


Burning The Midnight Oil

by MissMoochy



Series: MissMoochy's Marvel Fluff Bingo Oneshots [3]
Category: Daredevil (Comics), Daredevil (TV), Marvel
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Writing & Publishing, Blow Jobs, Hook-Up, M/M, Marvel Fluff Bingo 2021, POV Foggy Nelson, Writers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-15 13:22:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29559738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissMoochy/pseuds/MissMoochy
Summary: Marvel Fluff Bingo prompt: [Author AU]Foggy Nelson is an award-willing novelist, renowned for his exciting series about superpowered heroes. The secret of his success? He befriends vigilantes and uses them as inspiration. By far, his favourite one is Daredevil. They have an understanding.
Relationships: Matt Murdock/Franklin "Foggy" Nelson
Series: MissMoochy's Marvel Fluff Bingo Oneshots [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2096724
Comments: 7
Kudos: 43
Collections: MattFoggy Server Telephone Game Event





	Burning The Midnight Oil

Foggy was sat in his study, typing diligently when he heard a soft sound behind him. He didn’t turn around and he didn’t cease typing. He recognised the sound. Leather gloves squeaking on the windowpane, a booted foot easing over the sill and onto the carpet. It could be any vigilante. But that pause, the beat of hesitation as his mystery visitor waited.

That was Daredevil.

“Hello,” Foggy muttered. The vigilante was standing at the other end of the room and there was a crackling fire between them, but he surely heard Foggy’s voice as well as if he’d been standing at his side. “Haven’t seen you for a while.”

“Been busy.” Daredevil approached the fireplace and hunkered down on the hearth, gazing into the depths of the flames. If he didn’t have such a rigid sense of morality, he would have become an arsonist. That’s what Foggy reckoned, anyway. No man is so fascinated by fire unless there’s a sinister reason.

Foggy returned to his work, his bare forearms resting on the desk, his tired fingers typing. He’d left the ceiling light off and only the lamp on his desk provided any glow. Vigilantes felt more comfortable visiting him when the room was swathed in shadows. Daredevil, in particular, loathed the light. The light or being perceived. Some vigilantes could be persuaded to remove their mask but the Devil always refused. 

Daredevil joined him at the desk, standing behind his chair.

“Why do you use that thing?”

“It works,” Foggy said distractedly. He had a good rhythm, _type-type-ding, type-type-ding._ The typewriter was an antique — but whose antique, he didn’t know. He’d drunkenly bought it in an auction once. He considered it to be his good luck charm and had a footnote in his will that insisted he be buried with it.

“It makes the words...good-er.”

“Makes the words good-er? And yet, somehow, you’ve won a Pulitzer.”

“I’m not ‘on’ right now,” Foggy told him. 

“I don’t deserve your full attention? That’s a pity. Because I have something for you.”

That was enough to make him abandon his work. He liked gifts.

He turned on his swivel chair, to see Daredevil holding out his prize. A red silk tie, dangling from his gloved fingers.

“Oh!” Foggy said, beaming with pleasure. “Thank you. Put it on me, would you?”

Daredevil hesitated, just for a few seconds and then he moved. His left hand lifted Foggy’s hair so he could slip the tie under his collar, and then he leant over him, knotting it into a half Windsor. He tucked it into Foggy’s vest, his fingers lingering on his chest.

“How do I look?”

“I’m sure you look very handsome.” It was an odd choice of words but he dismissed it. Many of his friends were very strange and Daredevil was the strangest.

* * *

Daredevil looked around the room, his gaze not settling on any one point of interest. He was like a bird or a mouse, if anything in the room got moved or added (or taken away) he always noticed. Any new item, he would gravitate to it, ask questions about it, run his hands over it.

He inhaled, a deep gulp of air and perhaps the breath tasted sour to him because he frowned. Of course, that was an assumption on Foggy’s part — he couldn’t see Daredevil’s forehead; the cowl hid most of his face. But his cherry red lips were puckered with distaste, so perhaps there was a wrinkling of the brow to accompany it.

 _“He_ was here.”

Ah, he must have smelt him in the air. Truly, Daredevil had such fascinating powers. He had been reluctant to spill his secrets, but Foggy had pressed. Tipped wine into his glass, flattered him. Dragged his fingers down glossy red leather. All vigilantes are unable to resist praise. They get so little of it. They become addicted to it.

“Which he? I have so many,” Foggy said, smiling.

But he knew who Daredevil was referring to. Deadpool. Foggy secretly suspected that a lot of Daredevil’s dislike of the man was rooted in the mercenary’s easy acceptance of his own sexual appetites and not his disregard for human life. Envious…

“And did he bestow any great knowledge on you?” Daredevil said. “What did he teach you today? How to choke the life out of a man in thirty seconds? How to rip out their optical nerve so they can watch their demise?”

“He helped me figure out why my fern was wilting. It’s not always blood and gore, Daredevil.”

“I prefer it when you consort with less unsavoury people.”

“Well, I prefer my books being successful. Funny, that.”

“So, money? That’s your motivation?”

Foggy pushed his chair back. “Of course not. It’s about teasing intangible concepts out of my brain and weaving them into actual products you can buy and read. And maybe...making a few bucks?”

That earned him a gravelly laugh, and Daredevil finally thawed, joining him by the desk. He perched on the end, all gleaming red and dark stubble, those blank red eyes as impassive as ever.

“How many vigilantes do you have in your corral now?”

“You make them sound like pretty jewels that I hunt down and selfishly hoard.” Foggy propped himself up on his elbow, smiling up at the man.

Daredevil plucked up his sapphire paperweight and hefted it in one gloved hand. “Don’t you?”

“No. They’re friends. They’re all friends.”

“All of them?” And when Foggy didn’t reply, “How many?”

“Well, currently, I have… Deadpool, Captain America, Hawkeye. Iron Man won’t return my calls, tough nut to crack…”

“You’ll win his favour,” Daredevil murmured. “I’ve found you to be very persuasive. And the others?”

“What do you mean?”

“You said they were your friends. Do you have any...special friends?”

Foggy raised an eyebrow. “Besides you, you mean?”

Daredevil’s boot bumping against his foot could only be described as coy, kittenish. Testing the water. “Besides me.”

“Then none.” It was true. Daredevil was so pretty, so conflicted. People like Deadpool are brash. Bloated by their own ego. Daredevil was something new. He was refreshing.

That surprised him. The little head-tilt belied his shock. Vigilantes are _so_ predictable. “You’re telling the truth.”

“Of course, I am. I always do.”

“You write fiction for a living. You’re a professional liar.”

“I know, and I’m _so_ good at it!”

“Mm, you are.” And they both knew where this was headed. “So, are you going to give me what I came for?”

“Free and impartial writing advice?”

“I was thinking… Something a little more applicable to my situation,”

“An autograph?” But he was already reaching forward, curving his palms around the Devil’s slim hips, digging his fingers in. And Daredevil let himself be led, close to the chair until he was stood before him. Foggy ran his hands up and down the perfect V of his torso and around to his back. Felt him out, walked his fingers up and down. Daredevil had once said that he felt like Foggy was weighing him up, measuring him out like flour or sugar. When he touched him like this.

Daredevil laughed, fumbled with the straps on his outfit, undid that hidden catch with his fingers. So many times, so many nights and Foggy still couldn’t work out how his clothes came off. “Oh, Mr. Nelson, I’ve read every one of your books. Oh, Mr. Nelson, I’m your _biggest_ fan…”

“Liar,” Foggy murmured, greedily watching creamy white flesh bloom into view. It was the body hair that excited him, so much darker than his own honeyed hue, and that little trail of hair lead to Good Things. “You’ve never read a single one of my books.”

“On the contrary,” the Devil said. “I’ve read every single one. Many times. I have your audiobooks.”

He paused. “Really?” That was...unusual. He knew his superpowered friends sometimes read his books. He’d signed them, given them sneak peeks at future chapters. One of his vigilante friends would crawl through his window, tired and bleeding. He’d patch them up and then, they’d lie down on his leather couch and listen as he read. But they always preferred the books that were inspired by them. Deadpool wanted to hear about _Jack Glowen,_ the self-healing, mutate vigilante who was the hero in seven of Foggy’s novels. Captain America wanted to hear about the exploits of _Captain Roger Right,_ the patriotic hero in his _Right Stuff_ series. For this man to stand here, his hips pinned in place by Foggy’s hands and unashamedly say that he devoured everything he wrote, it unseated him. His fingers fluttered around Daredevil’s waist, merely for something to do.

He pulled Daredevil’s slippery, red pants down but he did it carefully. Worked his hard cock out of the cup that he wore, held it in both hands far too gently. Daredevil responded so easily to the lightest of touches. A single stroke with one finger and he was eagerly bucking into his hand. He never lasted long, and seemed a little ashamed of that. Foggy was flattered. He leant forward, taking him into his mouth.

Daredevil sighed the second Foggy’s mouth touched his cock, and he eased himself past the lips, slowly, hesitantly. He still was so hesitant, so wary. Foggy dragged his tongue along the underside of the shaft, just to make him jump. He liked it when the Devil forgot himself, forgot to be gentle. 

Foggy had clever fingers and a cleverer tongue. He lavished Daredevil’s cock with long, outrageous licks to get him extraordinary wet, until spit leaked out of his mouth and dribbled down. He could get off like this, just by sucking that perfect cock. He wasn’t on his knees, he was seated in his favourite chair, but his mouth was crammed full of vigilante dick and the taboo aspect thrilled him. He grabbed handfuls of Daredevil’s hips, squeezed what little fat there was, used it to drive him closer until he was far in as he could get and Foggy’s nose was touching his pubic bone. He smelt like sweat and hot leather, a musky stink that was intoxicating. Excitement, that’s what he smelt of. Big locks and bad dogs couldn’t keep the Devil away from him; he’d break his way through any barricade. He shivered at the thought.

Pre-come dripped down his throat and he swallowed reflexively, pulled on Daredevil’s hips to encourage him. He wanted it a little rougher, he could take it. If he pushed hard enough, he could goad the man into fucking his face. Daredevil groaned, slipped his cock out, just by a few inches and then drove it back in, his fingers finding Foggy’s hair. That fascination, he’d touch it wonderingly, wind strands around his fingers. He sucked idly, drool slopping down his chin, and finally, Daredevil began to fuck him in earnest. Moaning, tugging on his hair, fucking in and out of him, his sweaty hips sliding under Foggy’s palms. When he came, he must have bitten his lip because his moan was muffled. Sounded like Foggy’s name.

Daredevil pulled out slowly, tucked himself back in his pants. Waited as Foggy ran his tongue along the inside of his mouth, licking it clean. 

“Can I…?” he whispered, gesturing down. Foggy winced, tried to think about anything but the aching erection between his legs.

“I wish you could, I’d like to—”

“But?”

“I have to finish writing this chapter. My agent will gut me if I don’t submit anything tomorrow.”

Daredevil was still stood before him, a little foolishly, like a schoolboy expecting a reprimand from their principal. He set his hands on his hips as if he didn’t know where else to place them. “It’s due tomorrow and you’re not finished? So, you’re burning the midnight oil?”

Foggy sighed, took a quick gulp of wine to chase away the salty remnants of Daredevil’s come. He loathed that judgmental tone. Daredevil was too familiar with him. He sometimes addressed Foggy as if he’d known him before. It rattled him. “It’s late, I have a lot of work and I’m tired. I know you probably want to crack open a few skulls before you turn in to bed, so…” 

“Right.” Daredevil said. “Okay. Goodnight, Mr. Nelson.”

“Goodnight, Daredevil.” He turned back to his typewriter and stabbed out a few words. Over the ringing of the keys, he didn’t hear Daredevil’s sigh before he slipped out of the window.

**Author's Note:**

> Matt and Foggy knew each other in college, but lost contact. Foggy doesn't realise that Daredevil is his dorky roommate from college. If you liked this, show me some love with a kudos or comment! :)


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